The Onion Theory
by Yumi-chan-likes-chainsaws
Summary: Valentines day wouldn't be the same without waking up to an onion on your forehead. Wait... usuk


**_For USxUk Sweethearts week on livejournal._**

**_The poem is Valentine by Carol Anne Duffy_**

* * *

The **Onion **Theory**  
**

* * *

England didn't necessarily dislike Valentine's Day.

It was just not really his thing; it was more to do with the frog.

And he most certainly _didn't _want anything, not even from America. He just wanted to go to the meeting (France had said that it was insulting for the country of amour to have to go to a meeting on the day of amour, but that was his problem, so we digress) quietly and go home again to read or something equally stodgy in peace.

When he woke up and found and onion on his forehead, his first realisation was that that belief was naive and certainly wasn't going to be the case.

But let's start from the beginning.

England woke slowly to the sunlight streaming in his lightly curtained windows and the smell of something that seemed to be garlic.

He forced his eyes opening, yawning, surprised when something rolled off his head when he stretched his arm. For a few seconds he stared at the offending object, wondering who the hell would be so randomly cruel as to freak him out by putting a bloody _onion_ on his head.

Seriously. Why?

England poked it and it rolled off the side of the bed. He then recoiled in mild disgust. It wasn't a dream; someone really was such a creep as to sneak into his room to put an onion on his head.

But, seriously, why?

He sighed, deciding that he didn't really want to know about the sick people in society and got up, shaking his head to erase any remnants of sleep in his eyes before venturing towards the hotel wardrobe where he'd hung his clothes up neatly to avoid them getting any irritating creases.

He threw on the first shirt he saw and his suit jacket before struggling into his trousers.

It was then he found the thimble in his breast pocket.

It really was going to be a long day.

* * *

"Angleterre," the obnoxious Frenchman cooed at the incredibly unimpressed Briton, "You don't look too happy. Did your little former charge not get you anything?" England scowled across at France, who put his hands up in a surrendering motion. "Mon ami, it was just a question."

"Well, I'm just answering in saying that, no, he didn't get me anything. In fact, I haven't even spoken to him yet," he grumbled, "So, if you would excuse me, frog."

"Ah, amour," France crowed, ignoring England's attempts to enter the room to which he was blocking the entrance. "People can be so oblivious to its clutched, choosing lust or infatuation over the true thing because they find it to unbearable for their shallow hearts to manage! Mon cher, I would _never _forget this day!"

England growled, forcibly moving the blonde from the doorway. "That's because you're a prat," he stated, storming into the room and flinging his books down on the desk, earning a terrified look from both Italy brothers.

France pouted. "Why are you always so grumpy," he asked, mockingly.

"That's just your imagination," came the haughty reply.

"Right."

"...France, did you put an onion on my forehead this morning?"

A deadpan. "What?"

"Never mind."

* * *

And everything could only make England even more curious.

"Why is there ice cream on my desk?"

Japan looked up from the book he had been reading while everyone else was eating lunch elsewhere. "Is something wrong England-san? Did you not like America-kun's speech again?"

"Is this yours, Japan," he asked, point blankly ignoring the second question. America had walked into the meeting room, as loud as ever, and then didn't even acknowledge his presence. Not that he wanted anything for Valentine's Day or anything; he just wanted to be noticed.

"No, its not." Japan looked just as clueless as England. "Someone must have left it for you."

England blinked, his face flushing at the thought of someone giving him ice cream. And, no, it wasn't a certain someone who came to mind, of course not. No.

"Ah, o-okay. Did you see anything?"

Japan shook his head.

"Hey Iggy! Japan!"

England turned around, watching as the obnoxious American in the doorway strolled forward to grab Japan by the shoulder and shoot a wink at England. Said Briton blushed, momentarily forgetting the fact that he had been blanked earlier on. "Uhm, hello."

"America-kun."

"My speech," America grinned at the smaller nation, "Awesome or what?"

"Uhm," Japan stammered, "I-I agreed with m-most."

"Really! That's cool!"

England watched them talk, wishing for the blush on his face to die down a little so he could at least _breathe._ Then he noticed the necklace.

The small lock on a piece of worn out chain hung limply from America's neck, settling nice and neatly on his chest, moving slowly as the taller man breathed in and out slowly as he talked animatedly with Japan. England watched, wondering why on earth he was wearing it in the-

"Hey Iggy, you're spacing out dude!"

England jumped, his gaze flitting up to America's unnaturally cheery features. "Ah! Its n-nothing, j-just thinking."

"Ah, kay then," America said, turning back to Japan.

England started. "Ah, are you going to get something to eat later," he asked, hope creeping unwanted into his voice, because he certainly was not hopeful that America would like to have dinner with him or anything like that.

"Ah, no, I'm busy," he replied, smiling obliviously as England's face fell, "Maybe some other time?"

"Oh...o-okay..."

* * *

"Stupid American and his stupid being busy and all," England growled, driving the spoon ferociously into the poor defenceless tub of bubblegum ice cream.

He just brushed him off! Just like that! What kind of cruel person doesn't have time to spend with their whatever-he-was-to-America on Valentine's Day? Baka America was so stupid and oblivious that he didn't get a thing because he never bothered to read the atmosphere before opening his too big, hamburger consuming mouth and-

England bit into something hard.

He cried out, toppling backwards off the park bench he had been moping on, getting even stranger looks from passing couples as he whinged, holding his jaw as he spat the offending object into his hand, grumbling pathetically.

It was a key.

England got up and ran.

* * *

He swung the door of his hotel room open with force, panting after running the whole way there. "You told me you were busy," he said shortly.

America, who was sprawled across the hotel bed, grinned. "I was," he replied.

England looked him up and down suspiciously. "Presuming you were behind all of this," he said slowly, "I don't understand what you were trying to do. I mean, if it's something to do with the holiday, you'd think you'd just get me a card or something."

America grinned. "Well, try the thimble first, that's an easy one. It originated in your brother."

England raised an eyebrow. "I presume you mean Peter Pan."

"Howdja guess?"

"Who do you think Sealand is named after?"

America shrugged. "Fair point. How about this," he asked, dangling the lock from his chest.

England smirked. "That was an easy one; I mean, this," he said, holding out the key that had been so inconspicuously hidden in his ice cream, "Is the key to that notorious lock, hanging by your heart, you see?"

"Prove it."

The Briton sauntered forward, pushing the key into the lock and popping it open with ease. A smirk. "I just opened your heart, correct?" he said slyly.

America chuckled. "Its the only key, yah know! The ice cream?"

England tapped his head for a few moments before begrudgingly admitting, "I guess I'm pretty cold at times..."

The overzealous America tapped him on the nose. "You know it! Good thing I'm here to warm up your frozen heart!"

But then England was stumped. "What I really don't get," he murmured, "Is the onion. Why in God's name would you sneak into my room and place and onion on my head? It makes no sense, to me at least," he sighed, shaking his head.

America smiled. "Want me to tell you?"

"Please."

"Because, like an onion, love had many different layers of trust, and people, especially you, have many different layers of personality. Onions make you cry as you peel back the layers and they linger long after they've already upped and gone, like a lover. The tears will blind you, like love. And it's scent will stay behind, haunting you, even when it's left, like a lover."

England raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's morbid."

"Ah, but it's the truth," he replied, tapping his nose knowingly.

"I didn't know you could be so deep."

"I got it from a poetry book."

"Wha- That's cheating!"

"Oh, shut up and kiss me already!"

And that's what he did.


End file.
